The hair salons/shops of Lewisham. Part 2

I hope these next images are large enough to show the detail of the shop windows. They display everything from hair straighteners to wigs, from different shampoos, conditioners and natural oils to silk scarves. Also those multi-coloured nets that I see hanging up outside every Afro-European hair shop, what are they used for?

As a white woman who shampoos and blow dries my hair twice a week and ties it up in a ponytail, many of the products in the Afro-European hair shops remain a complete mystery to me. In the documentary film Good Hair, Chris Rock examines the amount of time, money and effort spent by black women on styling their hair; that is spent trying to get 'good hair': straight, European-style hair.

The very idea that there is 'good hair' (and, thus, by definition 'bad hair') underlines Eurocentric ideals of beauty: straight blond hair and blue eyes (in Toni Morrison's 1990 novel The Bluest Eye, Pecola wishes for blue eyes to overcome her blackness and to become beautiful). However notions of beauty are not monolithic, they are socially constructed, socially defined and hold political power.

Thinking about hair and beauty products and practices is one way to consider how the material fabric of the urban landscape and the bodies that occupy it are marked by the inheritance of imperialism. The products available in these shops serve as a reminder not only of London's everyday diversity but also of Britain's imperialist history, its racist discourse and its power relations which are, in turn, inscribed onto (certain) bodies and woven into their hair.

A Sign of Regeneration?

About a week ago I noticed that my local caff had a new shop sign. I was taken aback by the nagging sadness I felt at the replacement of a sign that triggers memories of hungover fried breakfasts with friends, of what my boyfriend claims (and I dispute in an ongoing discussion) is the best pie and mash and liquor in south east London and of hasty lunch hour sandwiches with work colleagues.

(I should underline here that the caff isn't closing, they have merely changed their shop frontage, but these are experiences, memories and meanings which are tied up with the very fabric of the street, with the concrete presence of the caff and, apparently, its sign).

Yet apart from this slight sadness, I didn't give it too much thought.

Today, however, when I was out photographing hair salons, I noticed that some of the other shop signs on the same stretch of street have also been updated, repainted and rewritten. The newly-spruced up frontages include a nail bar/beauty salon.

This revamping of the shop signs is one of the physical manifestations of the regeneration of the area.  Not only is the physical appearance of the street altered but new meanings are created and are attached to this appearance. Last year banners went up around whilst new paving slabs were being put down proclaiming 'Catford is Changing'.  This change is not merely on the surface of street-level but also in the ways that people think about and interact with the street, 'Catford is Changing' in our imaginations.

This regeneration also coincides with the development of 'Catford Green' which will be 'launching' this autumn (one of many areas to have been rebranded as a 'Village' or and a 'Green'). Built by Barratts' Homes on the skeleton of the old greyhound stadium, 'Catford Green' will consist of six hundred new houses and flats with links to local parks and shops.

So, as is often asked of regeneration, who is it really for? The current residents and shoppers for whom the local shopping street is part of the everyday routine? Or for the new residents, those that need to be courted?

The changing signs are a sign that the times are changing.